Singapore Noir

Spotting the girls made him get up though. There were two — one big, one smaller. Skinny beanpoles with long pale legs. The big one had a long tidy ponytail; the little one, one of those Japanese doll haircuts. Even before they got close, Ah Meng could see how pretty they were. He could tell they were sisters — same button nose, same slightly crooked smile, same cheeks the color of young dragonfruit. They even walked the same, each turning out her feet just slightly. Watching them stroll down the pier toward the jetty, slender legs purposely pushing out from their matching black Adidas shorts, Ah Meng imagined them as birds. Were birds as stupid as fish?

They must have come from the village hawker center — each clutched a clear plastic bag of sugarcane juice jabbed with a neon pink straw. From their slippers, Ah Meng guessed that they lived close enough to walk. He tried to recall if he’d seen them before — he didn’t think so. Girls weren’t that common on this jetty so he was sure he would have noticed. A little farther away, yes, near the government holiday chalets on Strawberry Hill or closer to the canoeing and windsurfing joints in Changi Village. Sometimes at night, you might see the Malay ladyboys pop up and loiter a little, some of them looking for a break from walking, some just looking for a good spot for their clients, lah. But mostly all you saw on this jetty were the morning fishermen and the few kelong oldies left. And Ah Meng.

If he wanted to see any chio girls he usually had to take the bus to the Bedok town center. If he felt in the mood for atas girls then go Clarke Quay where the high-class clubs were, lah. But the girls there were a bit scary for him. None of them usually wanted to talk to him. Actually, the ones in Bedok also usually ignored him. They could probably tell immediately that he didn’t have anything. No car, no Tag Heuer, not even a credit card. He hadn’t had a girlfriend since before the army days. Once he got posted to Pulau Tekong for three months of artillery training, his girlfriend dumped him for a neighbor who’d already finished his army duty — he would actually be around to bring her out and didn’t have a toot-looking shaved head anymore. It had been so long since Ah Meng had seen one pretty girl, much less two. He sucked hard on his cigarette.

How to play this?

He flicked his cigarette out into the water and lit another, steadying himself against the railing as he leaned back on one foot, hoping he looked a little like Tony Leung in one of those moody Shanghai movies. He got no hat or gangster suit, lah, but can still act a bit. When the girls got close enough, he turned his face away, narrowing his eyes as he peered out at the water. It hadn’t rained yet so it was still that time of day when the air in the village tasted like moist salt. The girls’ footsteps were so light, the way they walked so high class that he heard no sounds of slippers flapping against their heels. He could feel his heart walloping his chest. He blinked and looked farther out, focusing on his kelong in the distance. The small platformed house in the slender strait that sliced a passage between Malaysia and Singapore was barely visible, encircled with an uneven skyline of tall nibong stilts. All was quiet — good. Siva and his two boys were off on Sundays, so if anyone was actually puttering around on his kelong, that means sure got trouble.

“Is that your boat?”

Slowly he turned around. It was the smaller one.

“Yah,” he said as casually as he could. The small one was smiling slightly; the big one stared at him blankly. He wasn’t sure what to do.

“Is it expensive?” The small one again.

A very Singaporean question, he thought, noting that she must not be very smart to imagine that his beat-up wooden boat might be expensive. It was fairly large, yes — big enough to transport nets and basins of fish — with a small sheltered section lined with painted benches. Ma had come up with the brilliant idea of kelong tourism a few months back, until she discovered how much cash she’d have to sink into fixing up the place before people would actually pay to come for a chance to check out “one of Singapore’s last real-life working kelongs!” Not to mention the boat they had was so old and lau pok that Ah Meng couldn’t see anyone wanting to risk even minutes on it.

“Er, no. This one very old one,” he replied, desperately trying to think of something better to say. He took another long drag.

“Do you give people rides?” The bigger girl this time, smiling at him along with the little one.

Ah Meng wasn’t supposed to — lawsuits, Ma had explained. Better don’t risk anything funny. So even when his army kaki gajiau-ed him for evening joyrides, promising to bring a nice bottle of Black Label if he agreed, he always said no.

“Sometimes,” he said, quickly adding, “but only if the weather’s nice.”

“It’s nice today,” the big one said.